They went down together to the long spit of rock against which the swimmer was being driven. Stair looked at the black head on the surface of the water and realized that there might be trouble for both of them in the immediate future. He ordered Patsy to stand back.
"Why should I?" said Patsy, surprised at his tone.
"Because I tell you to!" said Stair Garland sharply, "there—on the top of the rock. Crouch down! Do not move till I give you leave." Then he began to wade out, and as he went she saw him assure himself that his sheath-knife moved sweetly in its scabbard with the click of easy-fitting steel.
"Eben McClure!" he cried, as in the long reach of the overhand stroke the man's face was turned towards him, "what are you doing here?"
Stair helped him out of the water. The man could hardly gasp at first, but in a moment words returned to him.
"The lost dog," he said hoarsely, "follows the only man who is kind to it."
And he would have fallen on the rock spit, if Stair had not caught him in his arms, and carried him to the little cove.